


Pirouettes

by septembergem



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Ballet Dancer Sherlock, M/M, Rugby Captain John, balletlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-13
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-24 00:22:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9691286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/septembergem/pseuds/septembergem
Summary: "I perform an art. You run around and... what do you do, exactly?""I play a sport!""Well, so do I, then."otherwise known as "that time Sherlock and John were in high school and met through Molly at her dance studio"





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to this Johnlock-esq fic, filled with ballet and rugby a plenty. I hope you enjoy, updates may be sporadic due to school and other life activities. Feel free to leave feedback, suggestions, requests and opinions!
> 
> Much love ~
> 
> (forgive odd spacing due to my laptop)

“Can’t you wait to do that once we get to the studio?”

 

“We’re already running late.”

 

“That’s your own bloody fault for not having a ride!”

 

Molly turned her head to look up at John in the driver seat, but he was staring at the road. She puffed a breath and looked back down, continuing to pull her sneakers off. John was quiet for a beat, almost waiting for her to stop.

 

“Molly, don’t take your shoes off in my car! I’m already driving you to your stupid class-”

 

Molly snapped up in her seat. “John Watson, you do not call my pointe classes stupid!” she scolded, giving him a pointed look. He glanced over to meet her eyes before rolling his dramatically and taking a sharp left turn.

 

“Fine, whatever. I’ll drive you every Tuesday to these classes if you promise to keep your shoes on in my car.”

 

As he pulled up against the curb in front of the little dance studio, Molly sighed and shoved sneaker into her bag, jumping out of the car barefoot. “Thank you, John. I really appreciate you doing this for me.” She smiled at him, closing the door.

 

“Six o’clock?”

 

“Six o’clock.”

 

He smiled back at her.

 

He watched her prance across the concrete barefoot on her toes, opening the glass door and slipping inside. He pulled away from the studio, circling around a bit in the area. He took note of a little coffee shop a few blocks down and a corner store a little to the north. John figured he get familiar with a few places considering he would be taking and picking Molly up every Tuesday here for the rest of the year. No sense in driving all the way here, going all the way home and coming back again. He found a spot to park a little ways away and rummaged around in the duffle in his backseat, closing the door and honking the horn.

 

The streets weren’t cluttered in this part of town, so John walked towards the coffee shop down the middle of the sidewalk, hands in his letterman’s pockets. The little bell above the door jingled as he entered and he settled in with his textbooks for the next hour and a half.

 

\---

 

“Damn it…” John cursed under his breath, hands skimming all of his pockets for the third time. He looked in his bag again, and again, but still didn’t see his cell anywhere. He must have left it at school then - God knows what class he left it in or who could’ve stolen it by now. He did a final once over before sighing, slamming his door, and starting to walk towards Molly’s studio. His original plan was to call her and tell her where he’d been waiting, but with this sudden turn of events, he ran his hand through his hair as his pace increased. Could he drive back down to the studio? Sure, but now he was already halfway there, feet carrying him at high speed. Molly would be waiting for him.

 

The sky was progressively dimming, and the little sign above the studio was lit lightly in soft blue. He pulled the door open and slipped inside and was immediately met with the smell of dust and old leather. The foyer to the studio had a few chairs and magazines strewn about, but it was almost instantly flooded with girls and boys alike in leotards, tights and other sorts of gear. They came pouring out of studios to the right and left deeper inside the business, bags over their shoulders. Chatter and gossip wafted through the air. John pushed himself against the window, trying to diminish his presence as much as possible. He’d never before felt out of place in his rugby uniform, let alone judged by it. He focussed on looking for Molly.

 

Most people cleared rather quickly, and John went cautiously poking into the studio directly in front of him. He pulled the door open a little wider and peeked in only to be met with soft conversation and a distant classical piece.

 

A girl pushed her way around him, muttering an excuse me as she grinned and greeted a friend already warming up in the studio. John stumbled, falling into the doorway a bit more.

 

He could now spot Molly, all the way across the room. She was talking to some girl with jet black hair tied into an impeccable bun. John wasn’t about to walk all the way across this room, nor was he going to call out to her. Instead, he leaned against the doorway, one foot tapping on the marley floor.

 

His eyes latched onto someone.

 

A boy was sitting on the floor carefully slipping off ballet flats. His hair was dark and curly, tight against his head. His skin was pale, almost pale enough to blend into his white tights. The black leotard he was wearing was long sleeved, covering every inch of his arms. And his face - it looked to be cut from marble. It wasn’t until he looked at his icy blue eyes that John noticed the boy was staring at him, his hands moving monotonously on their own.

 

John had never been so relieved to see an enthusiastic Molly walking towards him.

 

He turned and headed for the door before Molly even reached him, the door closing a second time as Molly met him on the sidewalk.

 

“Why didn’t you call?” Molly was already asking. John pulled his mind out of a boy-induced haze.

 

“Lost my phone. C’mon, this way.”

 

“Well if I’d known we’d be walking to your car, Id’ve changed my shoes. Just wait one sec.” Molly propped her feet on a little ledge sticking out from the window, starting to take off her ballet shoes. John crossed his arms and tapped his foot impatiently, making biting conversation with Molly as she slipped one shoe off and started on the next. The door to the studio opened once more and John almost got himself to look away. Almost.

 

The boy was tall, his legs toned and long. He was much taller than John was, his height mostly unproportional to his weight. The mop of curls on his head were unruly, almost hanging down into his eyes- ah, yes, right, his eyes. Those cool, calculating eyes that were always connected to his almost harshly, like they were reading him inside and out.

 

The boy never gave one glance to Molly, even as she continued to talk about this and that. He walked past them to his car, John assumed, his bag draped over one shoulder. John followed him with his eyes until he had to rotate his head to keep an eye on him, but by that point, the boy had stopped staring and left with a stiff, purposeful walk.

 

“And - John? John-”

 

Molly was standing now, ready to go, staring at him. Following his eyes. His mind shut down again and he looked at her, a calm facade overtaking him. “Yeah?” he answered.

 

“What were you starin’ at?” she asked, looking back and forth from him to their surroundings as if she was blind to the boy walking away down the street. She was looking for abnormalities, buildings on fire, things worth looking at.

 

Little did she know, that retreating figure in the distance was certainly worth looking at.

 

John drove Molly home in comfortable silence, punctuated by directions to Molly’s house now and again which were always followed by remarks such as, “I know where you bloody live, Molly.” As she moved to get out, she gave him an apologetic look.

 

“Same time next Tuesday?”

 

John sighed in mock resignation. “Same time.”

 

She grinned. He nodded. He thought of the girl with the jet black hair and perfectly swirled bun, and the smell of powder still hung in his nose. All he could see on his drive home were eyes made of glass, seeing his very soul.

  
He could foresee this becoming a problem.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> short and not super interesting, I apologize, longer and more plot laden chapters to come!!
> 
> <33

John usually didn’t let things plague his mind for too long. He’d think about someone or something for a day or two, then move on to the next thing. Practice. Games. Homework. College. Girls. Boys. Topics changed frequently.   
  
But for some godforsaken reason, ballet-boy was seared into his mind.   
  
Maybe it was his statuesque looks, like he was fucking cut from marble himself; or maybe it was the allure or a new and unfamiliar world, this dance studio and it’s dusty smell. John didn’t know. He didn’t know if he’d ever see this boy again, and he didn’t know why he’d want to see him again in the first place. It’s not like he’d pluck up the courage to talk to him - sure, the chances of a boy ballerina being gay or otherwise were higher than any other bloke on the street, but John wasn’t exactly getting his hopes up. And besides, it’s not like he could ever pursue a relationship with a boy anyway. Not with his father and his school and his reputation.   
  
The only thing John was sure of was that Tuesday couldn’t come fast enough.   
  
He disregarded all thoughts he’d been having all week and walked with a spring in his step to his car, Molly in tow.   
  
“You’re chipper today.” Molly remarked, her duffle practically dragging her to the ground. Molly was only 15, and tiny for her age. John was short himself, but Molly still skirted under him by a few inches.   
  
“Got a good grade on a recent test.” He said, plain and boring. Not worth a remark. Nothing to lead Molly into some kind of suspicion. John had a hunch she knew he was bi, but he wasn’t going to go out and say it to her or anything.   
  
They drove and listened to the radio, and he let Molly complain about the Freshman History teacher and the essays assigned in that class. At some point, his rugby bag slid off the seat and onto the floor at a roundabout.   
  
There was a parking spot much closer to the studio today, and for a brief moment, John almost considered just waiting in the studio’s sad little foyer for the hour and a half, but he instantly scrapped that idea and started grabbing his books to head to the coffee shop again.   
  
“Want me to meet you at the shop?” Molly asked. John looked at her across the backseat, both of them bent down over their bags.   
  
“No, that’s alright. Car’s down here anyway, I’ll just come in and look for you.”  
  
“I can meet you on the street, if that’s easier?”  
  
“Whatever you want.” he was trying so hard to be nonchalant that he was sure Molly would make a sassy quip, but she didn’t. She shrugged and slipped through the door.   
  
\---  
  
John walked through the foyer, ignoring Molly’s suggestion to meet on the street, and went straight through the doorway into the main studio, he assumed from its size. The same few people were in there from last Tuesday, but his eyes didn’t spot the dark haired boy. He ignored the deflating in his chest and looked for Molly instead. He made eye contact with the alluring dark haired girl; today, bright red lipstick was painted over her lips. She quirked a smirk at him, walking in his direction with Molly at her side.   
  
“John, this is Irene!” Molly introduced them. Irene had a kind of sultry glow about her - she was probably a little older than John, but barely by anything. She walked out with them and they stood chatting on the sidewalk while John packed his books into the car. He saw the door to the studio open and some legs covered in baggy sweatpants stepped out.   
  
John hit his head on the roof of the car trying to duck out of the backseat and stand up.   
  
The boy adjusted his bag as he walked, giving a tight-lipped smile to the girls as he passed. “Irene.”  
  
“Sherlock.” Irene gave a slow smile and turned her head barely to maintain eye contact as he left.   
  
_Sherlock._  
  
John stared, but he never looked over at him. He walked down the street and out of sight.   
  
“John? Ready to go?” Molly asked, suddenly leaning on the opposite side of the car.   
  
John shook his mind out. “Yep. Ready to go.”  
  
He wasn't ready to go. He had a name. A name to pin to the face in the cork-board of his mind. It was almost certain that this boy, this Sherlock, wasn't going to just be a passing phase.   
  
Maybe he should take up ballet.


End file.
